


Playing with Fire

by malleusmaleficarum



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Awkward Flirting, Dyslexia, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, M/M, Rating May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-04
Updated: 2015-03-04
Packaged: 2018-03-16 06:03:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3477215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/malleusmaleficarum/pseuds/malleusmaleficarum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cullen's nightmares are replaced by something more primal, while Dorian's pariah-hood seems to follow him. An incident occurs that will bring them together, but at what cost?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Playing with Fire

**Author's Note:**

> So, first of all, I have a headcanon that Cullen is dyslexic for some reason. Second, this is my first time writing fanfiction for anything in years; if this gets a good response, then I'll continue with this story as a multichapter work. I have some ideas floating about, so we'll see. I'm in college, but I have a break coming up. Plenty of writing time to be had - enjoy!

There was nothing about this that he was familiar with in the least. The constant state of flustered embarrassment, the blushing coaxed out by the other man’s subtle flirting in the middle of business conversations, the late-night sleep disturbances brought on by a recent bout of erotic dreams… he felt like a bloody teenager. Except when he actually _was_ a teenager, he was a dutiful Chantry boy training to become a Templar, not fawning over his colleagues and suffering this blistering shame every step of the way. He’d come so far in life, and now he was regressing to almost infantile status. This could not go on, he reasoned.

Cullen slowly rose from the tangled mess of his sheets, blonde curls matching the state of his sleeping arrangements after another fitful night of sleep. A sizable yawn ripped uncontrollably from his dry, aching throat; it was going to be a long day, he thought mournfully. _Maker, what did I even dream of?_

Then, as quickly as this thought came and passed, it all rushed back to him. _Dark hair sprouting between his calloused fingers, heady scent of spice filling the air, taught muscles stretching across a fit torso as it writhes beneath him, desire filling up his stomach till it’s fit to burst._ “Dorian” _comes out in a labored gasp._ “Dorian…”

Cullen swiped a hand across his hair and down his neck, lightly rubbing the tense muscles and groaning at the sudden onslaught of memories. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and lumbered over to the washbasin to splash water over his sleep-deprived features. Looking in the mirror, he could see that the dark circles were returning. Cassandra would certainly comment on that in the War Room today.

The Commander slipped on his armor pieces one at a time, draping the furs over his shoulders as the final touch. _Time to go_.

 ---

It was noon before Dorian finally cracked his eyes open to find light pouring into his quarters. He made a mental note to close the curtains _before_ partaking in his nightly glasses of brandy as he squeezed his eyes shut again, the sun causing his headache to worsen tenfold. He rolled over and stretched out his arms, enjoying the sensation of the satin sheets across his naked skin. He didn’t bring much with him from Tevinter, that much was certain, so when he caught sight of the burnt orange sheen of the sheets draped across a display hanger in the Val Royeaux market, he couldn’t help but give in to this particular indulgence. Now, not even snowy tundra frost, nor treacherous rocky passes next to sickening stormy seas could completely ruin his day, because he always knew he had _this_ to come home to.

Still, he couldn’t help but feel as if something were amiss, but he was unable to venture as to what it was. Satin sheets obviously could not replace the warmth and comfort to be shared with friends (though, admittedly, it did help to fill this void, if only in the slightest way). Nevertheless, only Levellan had bothered to speak with him, and though her concern was genuine, he realized that what she needed most were his skills in magic and Tevinter history – friendship at this time, unfortunately, came second.

Everyone else kept a comfortable distance from the mage, preferring not to incite salacious rumors if caught speaking with the _Tevinter mage_ for longer than necessary. Dorian often chuckled at their collective paranoia, but when he was alone, it did weigh on him a bit. The brandy helped.

But then he remembered the Commander. He had always been polite, never looking at him with distrust or unbridled skepticism like the other companions. He was such a nervous thing, too; Dorian couldn’t help but take advantage of his shyness on more than one occasion, if only to see the blush creep up into his cheeks before scurrying off. And, Maker, was he _handsome_. In every sense of the word.

Dorian had always preferred blondes growing up in Tevinter; many nights, he’d found himself occupying taverns into the early morning hours to observe the off-duty temple guards unwinding after arduous shifts, sighing contentedly into their late-night pint of ale. And he adored the older ones, with the grey hairs poking out from their unkempt sideburns and the wrinkles denoting every laugh and woe in their lives. He focused on these qualities even while making love – _especially_ while making love. He wanted to appreciate the more human features of his bedmates, realizing these were people who were most likely married, perhaps with rugrats running about their simple Soporati homes. Because the next morning, he was forced to forget them as soon as he’d known them, watching with distant eyes as they rushed out the inn room door, never to be seen or heard from again.

After half an hour of lying in bed and reflecting on these bittersweet memories, he banished the thoughts altogether and swiftly dressed. Dorian picked up a small glass bottle from his vanity and dispensed only a squirt of its contents into his hands, rubbing them together until it formed a smooth, warm, tingling substance before applying it to his hair and mustache. He looked into the mirror one last time, noticing the subtle wrinkles tucked into the outer corners of his eyes. He hoped they were from laughter.

 ---

Research was a strange request from the Inquisitor; usually, Dorian volunteered for any work that got him into the library. Today, however, was different, and Cullen wished that Levellan would have picked another time for variation.

After a while though, he had to admit that it made sense. This assignment focused strictly on southern Templar history, and Dorian, smart as he is, would have a more difficult time with this particular subject – though he’d be loath to admit it.

But the unusual circumstances were not the only thing troubling him; in fact, that wasn’t even the start of it. Dorian haunted the alcoves of the library on a daily basis, and he would certainly be there at this time of day, searching for long-forgotten titles on the densely packed shelves, or reading in his cushy velvet chair by the stain-glass, watching over the grounds occasionally with those vigilant grey eyes…

The Commander could already feel the butterflies forming as he walked up the steps to the grand foyer. He lingered for a moment by the front door and admired the handiwork of the Inquisition volunteers that had gathered from all across Thedas. Inquisitor Levellan was a proud Dalish and had therefore furnished the entire stronghold in its custom design. Even with his rustic Fereldan background, he could not deny that the entire aesthetic of the Elvhen was breathtaking.

Cullen realized after a short while that his sustained presence in the doorway was distracting to the guests and moved hestitantly towards the tower staircase. The effect of the hallway was almost claustrophobic, but he also did not rush as he was in no hurry for potential embarrassment if Dorian chose to speak with him. With all of this stimuli frazzling his brain, he could hardly take in any breath. By the time he reached the top of the stairs, he was completely winded.

“Ah, Commander! Fancy meeting you here.” _Damn._

“Yes, er – hello, Dorian.”

Dorian turned his book over onto his lap. “What brings you up to these great heights? Has training your obedient young men finally driven you to more intellectual pursuits?” The corner of his lip curled beneath his perfectly shaped mustache, and it was all Cullen could focus on.

“Actually the Inquisitor has charged me with an unusual task –“

“Oh, Levellan _is_ full of such original ideas, is she not?” The mage rose from his chair and returned his book to a rectangular space in the shelf to his right before approaching Cullen, who had his arms folded tightly across his plated chest. “Anything I could help with? I am here quite often, you see, and I’ve never seen you even step foot in here.” He chuckled.

“That is a kind offer, but the reason she put me up to the task is because it has to do with, er, Templar matters…”

“Ah, I see. So she doesn’t see me fit for the challenge,” Dorian said, feigning offense. “Well, no matter. My offer still stands. I’ll be right here if you need me.” He gave a proud nod, turned on his heel, and returned to the bookshelf to search for another tome to add to the growing pile situated on his desk.

Cullen never understood how one person could read so much; he struggled to finish even the simplest of novels, much less an entire history of ancient Thedosian civilizations or magical theory. Not that reading wasn’t enjoyable, but he was easily distracted, and therefore he often found himself reading the same paragraph half a dozen times before he could move on. By the time he’d completed a chapter, he was exhausted from the effort and had to put the book down for a month or two. He remembered with resentment the sleepless nights he’d encountered when memorizing the Chant of Light for his Templar training; many times, he found himself close to giving up just because of these passages. But becoming a Templar was more important to him than anything else in his life, and he’d be damned if he wouldn’t overcome this issue if it meant swearing his life to the Maker’s will.

He let out an inaudible sigh of relief, thankful that Dorian had taken control of the conversation. Otherwise, he didn’t know what sorts of drivel would fly out of his mouth. Now that he thought about it, he barely remembered what they had talked about, and his heart pounding in his ears certainly didn’t bring him comfort. Rather than dwell, Cullen marched forward to the section marked for Andrastian history. It took ten minutes to find the volume ( _who in the blighted world put these books away? I’ll murder them…)_ that the Inquisitor requested, but finally, he discovered the faded gold-imbued text printed on the spine. “Ah-ha…”

With the book cradled beneath his arm, the Commander made his way over to the staircase. But as he drew closer, he noticed that Dorian had left his alcove to lean over the wooden railing, hip bent defiantly to the left and arse displayed in nonchalance.

Cullen fought the urge to peer down at this sight, but his peripheral vision was beginning to get the better of him. Dorian noticed his presence and turned his head slightly to acknowledge him.

“Found what you were looking for, I take it?”

“I - ” _He means the book, you idiot._  “Yes, yes, but some bloody fool put it in the wrong place, so it took a bit longer than it should have.”

Dorian turned his gaze back toward the floor below them. “Yes, believe it or not, Skyhold’s library was actually far worse than how you found it. I’m still in the process of cataloguing, but it takes time. So far, I’ve only managed my own alcove.” Dorian stood up straight and turned towards him, which caused Cullen to silently thank him for not tempting him any longer.

“Well, it’s been nice chatting, but I really must be going,” Cullen said abruptly. “The Inquisitor really needs me to look this over, so…”

“Of course, don’t let me stand in the way.” At this, Dorian stepped to the side and held out a hand as permission to leave. As Cullen reached the stairs, the mage called out one more thing that gave him a start: “Don’t be a stranger, Commander.”

  ---

In the blink of an eye, it was morning again, the cacophony of the ravens’ crowing waking Cullen after only two hours’ rest. He had spent the better part of the night trudging through the large tome, but he’d only managed five chapters, which was impressive for him, yet hardly made a dent in his research. Despite his focus on the dull history of Templar tradition, Dorian made yet another appearance into Cullen’s dreams, and in more vivid detail, even. _Certainly beats abominations_ , he thought bitterly.

He mentally prepared himself for another day of countless interruptions to his peace, fruitless debates with the fellow advisors, and violent village uprisings to quell. _There’s no time for personal matters…_

But, oh, was he craving it. He longed for someone to brush their hand over his forehead while he writhed in his sleep, to kiss every inch of his body and trace their fingers across his many scars, to kiss him so hard that his bottom lip bled, to belong to _him_ and only him…

A knock disturbed his line of thought, and although the distraction was welcome, he couldn’t help but curse whoever stood on the other side for summoning him at this hour.

“Who is it?”

“Damn, why do you force me to ruin the surprise?”

Cullen’s breath hitched in his throat at the sound of the Tevinter accent. “Dorian?”

“Yes, _me_ , now will you open up, or will we be having this entire conversation through a plank of wood as I shiver to death?”

Cullen couldn’t help but chuckle at Dorian’s fragile nature; even the slightest chill had him bundling up in furs and woolen scarves. “I apologize,” he said, chuckling as he opened the door, but his eyes widened when he saw the mage. He was leaned against the doorframe, a thin stream of dried blood trickling down his lip and stopping just short of his chin; his left eye was swollen shut, with purple and blue hues overtaking much of that side of his face. Part of his sleeve was ripped to expose his chest and shoulder, also scratched and beaten, with a few of his buckles loosened, hanging in defeat.

“I realize I am in a… strange sort of state, but I assure you, I can explain, and it’s not nearly as exciting or tragic as you might think.” The mage limped over to Cullen’s desk, dabbing at his lip and looking down at his finger with a look of disapproval. “You wouldn’t happen to have a towel, would you?” he said with a broken laugh, his façade of indifference faltering already.

“Oh, um, of course. Let me look around my quarters,” Cullen said, wringing his ungloved hands. He realized he had not yet put on his armor and furs, and he suddenly felt almost naked and vulnerable, though not nearly as vulnerable as the man that sat before him. “I might also have a first aid kit and some spare potions as well. You…” he hesitated, measuring his next words with care. “Er, you can make yourself more comfortable, up there, if you can climb up.”

“Ah, the Commander is offering me his bed,” he said with a smirk. “I thought I’d never see the day. This might have been worthwhile after all.” His laugh quickly turned to a cough, and Cullen rushed to his side without a second thought.

“Dorian, you sound awful. Are you sure you’re alright?” He dared to look into the mage’s one unobscured eye, bright yet clouded, like sun peering through a storm. For just a second, he thought he could see the faintest hint of a teardrop beginning to form.

“My, but there is a heart under that scowl,” he said throatily as he leaned onto Cullen’s shoulder for support. The Commander walked him carefully to the ladder and remarked on the feeling of the other man’s proximity; he realized this was the first time they’d been this close. “Thank you, Commander. I can handle it from here,” Dorian said, climbing slowly up to Cullen’s bedroom.

When Cullen reached the second floor of his tower, he found Dorian had already stretched across his bed, and he blushed as he recalled the dreams involving the mage that began in a similar fashion – save for the fact that Dorian wasn’t bloodied and beaten. He ignored his anxieties, however, and began to search for the proper materials. After a few minutes of searching, he returned to the bed with his arms filled to the brim with potions, towels, and bandages.

First, he administered one of the draughts to Dorian’s lips, the small sip causing his entire body to glow with a dull green aura before fading entirely.

“Ah, that certainly takes much of the pain away,” Dorian remarked.

Cullen dipped his towel into the washbasin next to him and began to dab gently at Dorian’s wounds. The mage winced. “So, I was promised an explanation,” he said with a worried grin.

“Indeed, you were– ahhh,” he hissed.

“Sorry.”

“It’s alright. Anyway, since you’re taking such good care of me, then you deserve to know.” Dorian cleared his throat before continuing. “Like I said before, it is nothing scandalous or worthy of the Inquisition’s present concerns. If anything, it is my fault. I was being particularly careless in this endeavor, a flaw I normally pride myself on having control over. But there are times when I can become a bit… hotheaded, so to speak.

“I was working in the library late, as usual, and I stumbled across something quite intriguing. A whole _section_ of books had gone missing. Now, this is very strange, indeed, because I had just finished cataloguing this very section the other night. And unless a horde of paper-devouring insects infested this one shelf while I wasn’t looking, then I naturally deduced that they’d been stolen. And for a _reason_.

“You probably don’t remember him, but a young man joined not long ago, asking me numerous questions about books that had to do with ancient Tevinter and Elvhen magic. I told him that the books hadn’t been catalogued yet, and they would be available when I was through with them. Well, I certainly finished, and not 24 hours later, they’re all gone. I found this to be far too strange to be mere coincidence, so I followed him, and… well, you see how that turned out.”

Cullen deposited the reddened washcloth into the washbasin, marveling how handsome Dorian looked even with a blackened eye and disheveled hair. He also noticed the disappointment on his face, the look of shame that was all too familiar to him, and it was very odd for him to be on the other side of it for once, especially with the proud, sarcastic Lord Pavus of Minrathous. “Dorian, it’s alright, you couldn’t have known…”

“Oh, but I did. I wanted to be a hero, single-handedly track down and assassinate the Venatori spy come to put all my research to waste. It’s not as if he was particularly careful.” His eyebrow furrowed, and he looked straight at Cullen with fiery contempt in his eyes. “But that was the point. What he really wanted was _me._ And I fell right into it. He made it personal as soon as he set foot in the library, and I was going to _finish_ it.”

Cullen’s tongue felt heavy in his mouth. There was nothing he could say to console the mage; his pride had been wounded even more so than his body. “Is he…?”

“Dead?” he said gravely. “Yes, otherwise it’d be me. But, as you can see, he didn’t go quietly. Now, look at me.” He shook his head, strands of oiled hair coming loose and falling into his eyes. “I’m certainly not used to looking hideous on top offeeling a complete fool.”

Cullen drew closer to the mage, warmth and concern painting his features. “That’s not true, and you know it…”

Dorian felt the corner of his lip twitch, and he sat up, ever so slightly, until he could feel the Commander’s breath graze his lips. “Which part?” he whispered.

“Both,” he breathed, and closed the small space left between them, pressing his lips against Dorian’s in a chaste kiss.

It began as a shy brushing of lips, still and slow, with pauses taken to appreciate the taste of the other man; Cullen noted the faintest hint of metallic blood left over from Dorian's recent struggle, as well as the familiar burn of brandy, and then an indescribable taste, a different one - the taste of Dorian. They broke for a moment, just to drink in the other's gaze before resuming contact. Cullen reached his hand up to Dorian’s cheek, and the mage responded by deepening the kiss, crushing their lips together with fervency, any and all tension focused now into purely sensual expression. Dorian slipped his tongue into the Commander’s mouth, lapping around the edges of his soft lips before gently nipping at the thin flesh, causing the blonde to emit a guttural noise as he gripped the back of Dorian's head.

“ _Ahhh_ ,” Dorian gasped, flinching from the kiss and clutching his swollen cheekbone.

Cullen reached out to his chin, brushing the skin gently with his thumb. “I’m sorry, did I hurt you?”

Dorian smiled at his concern. “Just need a moment; the bruise seems to be fussing at me.” He wrapped his fingers around Cullen’s forearm, swiping the tips down his toned flesh. “I didn’t realize you fancied men… and a mage! Tsk, tsk… what _would_ the Templars think?” His smile shifted from warm to devious, bedroom eyes peering from beneath heavy lids.

Cullen couldn’t help the blood that rushed to his cheeks, but he returned the smile with a daring grin of his own. “Last I checked, I’m no longer a Templar.”

“Oh, that’s right… I suppose that ruins any Circle fantasies I’d been dreaming up.” Dorian said with an exaggerated sigh. He chuckled at Cullen’s shocked reaction, which ebbed as soon as his hearty laugh filled the room. Then both of them were laughing and falling against one another; they were blissful and exhausted from their early morning meeting and the passionate kiss that followed so soon after. Finally, Dorian wiped a tear from his open eye and gave a wearied sigh.

“Would you mind terribly if I stayed here to rest? That way I won’t have to deal with the wealth of rumors that spread in this Maker-forsaken place for at least a few more hours.” He paused, bringing a hand up to Cullen’s stubbled cheek. “Plus, you can protect me in case anyone tries to finish the job…” he whispered before kissing the side of Cullen’s mouth, enveloping the scar written over his lip.

Cullen answered by crawling into bed with the mage and wrapping his arms around him, making sure not to brush the bruise again. His eagerness was blatant, but he was too tired to care. Finally, he would be able to wake up next to the same person that had occupied his dreams for so many restless nights. Sleep came over him without warning, and the last thing he felt before drifting off was the squeeze of Dorian’s hand around his own.

**Author's Note:**

> http://malleus-maleficarum.tumblr.com/


End file.
